


Pastaaa~!

by Prowl_Fan



Series: Who is Italy? [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 11:59:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prowl_Fan/pseuds/Prowl_Fan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things get worse for Germany, and Italy plans his future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pastaaa~!

When Germany awoke, he was chained to a wall. His wrists were shackled to the top of a wall, leaving his feet dangling, barely touching the ground. His body was covered in bruises, and it almost hurt just to breathe. Out of the corner of his eye, Germany saw Italy, and instinctively he called out,

“Italy, can you help me out?”

Italy didn’t move from where he was sitting, only stared at the blonde man with disgust. Finally, he spoke, ”You know, Germany, You’re really stupid,”

He kept a completely straight face as he spoke, and his upper lip curled in disgust as he spoke the German’s name, and then he stood up. He flicked a switch on the wall, illuminating a long table, lined with knives and surgical tools. Upon seeing them Germany flinched, and Italy snickered, 

“Don’t worry Germany, I’m not going to kill you. I’m not even going to hurt you, yet. But tomorrow…” he trailed off.

He took a step forward, and traced a line down Germany’s arm. It tickled, and Germany glared at Italy, silent. He spat in Italy’s face, and in return Italy slapped him. He strode back and picked up a bowl on the table, full of pasta. Then he loosened the left handcuff slightly, and slid it down to tighten it again around Germany’s elbow. 

He pushed the bowl into Germany’s hand, and Germany realized how strong Italy really was. He must have counter weights on the other side of the wall, and had pulled them up.  
“Eat it, Germany,” the Italian said, “if I’m going to have any fun later, you need to be strong. I made it just for you…”

Italy grabbed what appeared to be a twisted and sharp-looking fork, and stuck it violently into the bowl. He scowled, and walked out of the room, turning off the lights behind him. 

Hesitantly, Germany eyed the bowl, and reluctantly he ate some of the pasta, wincing as he cut his mouth on the odd utensil. 

The pasta tasted good, it tasted like how Italy made it. Germany blinked, trying hard not to let tears spill down his face. He took another bite. The pasta tasted like Italy’s pasta, but it also tasted of blood, and Germany realized that the strange fork-thing was ripping the inside of his mouth up.

He also realized where Italy had gone, and he threw onto the floor. He kept the twisted fork, though, because he could use it later. 

Italy was at the World Conference Meeting. He put on the biggest smile he could manage, and gritted his teeth through the pain it caused. He told some lie about how Germany was at home, because he wasn’t feeling well.

‘Well that part is true,’ he thought to himself,’ Germany’s not feeling well at all.’

They trusted him to be telling the truth, and went on with the meeting.

Italy didn’t really pay attention, he was thinking of how he would make Germany squirm. He was thinking about how he would break him, nice and slow, until Germany begged him to kill him off. And then Italy would look him in the face, and he would lock him up somewhere dark, somewhere where he could rot for a hundred years in his own misery, somewhere he could go insane, and pick his own mind apart, piece by piece. And all the while, he would be teaching the others, he would be showing them what was wrong with them, he would try to help them. Italy was thinking of how nice that would be; about how much he would enjoy their misery.

He was not thinking about the meeting, or else he wouldn’t have tripped, he wouldn’t have fallen on Britain as they were leaving. He apologized in his goofy manner. The other man accepted his apology, but remained aloof, and distant. Italy had always hated that about him. He had never touched anyone, never shook hands or offered to help anyone. He just stared at them from behind those stone cold olive green eyes, and watched.

That didn’t matter to Italy right now, though. He had a new toy to play with, just waiting for him to come home.

And he certainly didn’t want to disappoint.


End file.
